My son wears man-pris, so what?

Okay, I'll get to the man-pris. First, some backstory that I feel compelled to share. For the first few months of the bub's life, car trips were a total crap shoot. For the first fifteen minutes of any car trip, he typically cried and cried. I can remember driving to the endless pediatrician appointments early in his life and having him wail the entire 13 minutes it took to get there (now I could handle it, but as a new mom who could barely manage to get herself showered and dressed for these appointments--not to mention getting the bub bathed since I seemed to think the doctor was going to call Child Protective Services if she didn't smell baby lotion--these tears were unnerving). On longer car trips, he would eventually fall asleep. As long as he was asleep, we were not stopping that car, no matter how hungry or how badly in need of a restroom stop. On one particularly long trip from Chicago to Cincinnati, the bub would only stop crying when this one particular rattle was aggressively rattled in his face. My dad was driving, I was shotgun, and my mom, bless her heart, shook that rattle like a lunatic for over an hour. And, ah, the good memories of nursing the bub in Burger King parking lots up and down I-65.

Those days are over though, and I am pleased to report that the bub is, for the most part, really good in the car, especially on longer road trips. We bought the portable DVD player (possibly the best $130 dollars we have ever spent). We (well, I) pack the snacks. He's usually good for at least 90 minutes of sleeping as well. Hitting the road is almost relaxing. NTB.

I also make sure that the bub is dressed comfortably for these trips. Nothing hot or bulky (he sweats a lot). Nothing with a rough texture. This morning, I dressed him in his elastic waist Target jeans and t-shirt. These jeans have been washed probably fifty time and are almost paper thin. Of course, by lunchtime, the jeans were unwearable as the bub had jumped in every muddy puddle he encountered on the way from our car to the park district building and then from our garage to our house.

As we were planning to hit the road after lunch (heading to Ohio because The Intern graduates from college this weekend), I needed to find an different, dry, and non-muddy outfit for the car trip. Because it was steamy and almost 70 degrees, I thought another pair of pants might be too hot. I thought about shorts, but then didn't know if he'd be comfortable having the flesh of his legs rubbing together (perhaps I am projecting my own pregnancy body issues upon him). Then, I remembered: the bub has some man-pris! My mom found a pair of gray, lightweight, sweatpant material capri (man-pri) pants at Old Navy that were reduced to $3. They are really, really soft and comfortable and seemed an ideal solution to my pants/shorts debate.

So, the bub is dressed. We pick up hubby at the office. The bubby falls asleep and wakes up a disappointing 50 minutes later. However, he's in a great mood, babbling and taking off his shoes and socks. My husband looks back at one point and reports that somehow the bub has taken off his pants. How he managed to take off his pants while sitting fastened in the car seat is a mystery to me, but he is a resourceful booger, NTB. I look back and he is extremely proud of himself, sitting in the carseat with only a diaper on like a true little hillbilly baby.

We drive a little further and make a pit stop at McDonalds. I change the bub's diaper in the car and get him redressed. This is my husband's first real glimpse of the bub's ensemble, and he is not pleased. He is really disturbed by the man-pris. He is also concerned that the bub is wearing blue socks (hey--they matched his shirt) with his bright white tennis shoes.* He remarks that the bub looks too "European" for his taste. Whatever.

The bub is a prince the rest of the trip. He does remove his shoes and socks once we're back in the car, but he keeps his man-pris on. But my husband still cannot get over the man-pris. He keeps remarking about them, doesn't understand the wardrobe choice, seems like an awkward length, and blah, blah, blah.

So, finally, I'm all, "What's the big deal? They're comfortable pants. I didn't anticipate we'd see anyone we knew at the McDonalds in Remington, IN. I think you're overreacting."

Then, he says, "Well, I just might take a scissors to them so that they're actual shorts and not man-pris. I don't understand why you cut them to that length. I mean, if they were too short, couldn't we just save them for Bub 2.0 to wear?"

My husband thought that I actually took a pair of brand-new sweatpants and purposely turned them into man-pris. He thought that I thought that it would be a cool idea to craft a pair of man-pris for our toddler son.

I explain that they came that way, that my mom bought them for the bub to wear around the house, that they were a bargain, and that, again, they are damn soft and ideal for wearing for a five-hour car trip . . . he seems relieved.

But who knows what the hubby will find the next time he pulls his own prized pair of post-work evening windpants out of his drawer?


*It is worth noting that the bub has HUGE feet and that these tennis shoes are still new and thus bright white. They have velcro straps and remind me of the sort of athletic walking shoes that retired men wear.